


Knotted Destiny

by thewriterinpink



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Alpha Malik, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bakura and Ryou are brothers in this, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, Thiefshipping, omega Bakura, set in Japan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterinpink/pseuds/thewriterinpink
Summary: As children, Malik and Bakura clashed horribly. As teenagers, this persisted, but with teenagehood brings a new hormonal awakening and a destined soul bond. When it becomes obvious that the two of them are bond mates, their relationship is pushed in a direction of change they will have to navigate, no matter how they may feel about it.After all, like it or not, they're forever stuck with each other.





	Knotted Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, welcome to this Thiefshipping story I started working on! This blew up into something HUGE, but I'm really having fun writing it. I'm four chapters ahead so hopefully I can keep that gap going. 
> 
> (A side note: I kept the religious side to the Ishtars in this, but made it modernized by switching from their canon Egyptian religion to the far more likely Muslim one. I don't specify too heavily on this for my own sake {religion is complicated}, but they do refer to only one God instead of many and I wanted you guys to know why)

Malik finds himself face first in the dirt. It’s so sudden that at first he almost thinks he must have tripped, only to realize the laughter above him comes directly behind him and it isn’t just in his head.

 

A spot of anger fills his senses and he forces himself to sit up and look at the alleged pusher. It’s a familiar face, one of the twin Bakura boys in his class. The first one is much too quiet and polite, though maybe a little odd, so Malik assumes it's the second one sneering down at him, cheeks red and eyes watering from whatever humour he gleams from this attack. When he calms down, he smirks at Malik, a look filled with pride. 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the little prince was so fragile that a gust of wind could knock him over! And now you went and got your overly expensive clothes dirty! Is your daddy going to be mad?”

 

The question is joking, but Malik feels a cold sinking in his chest as he assesses his clothes. There is now dirt clinging heavily to the material and a grass stain on both his knees. Whatever expression might be on his face, it starts another bout of laughter and Bakura steps closer to him until he’s standing right over Malik, one foot on either side of Malik's raised legs. He leans down enough to have their faces level and Malik notices the slight dotting of freckles that spread from cheek to nose to cheek. He sticks his tongue out at Malik.

 

“Whatever. It’s not like your daddy can’t pay for more or a maid can't clean it up for you. Besides, it’s not like your daddy is ever around, right? He never comes to pick you up. The guy who does looks nothing like you. That's just a butler, isn't it?”

 

Malik really isn’t sure if Bakura is trying to bully him further or comfort him, but either way the reminder that his dad is almost never home anyway does manage to do the later. He sighs in relief and then promptly kicks Bakura’s legs out from under him, sending the snobby brat on his butt as Malik pulls himself up into a standing position and takes a few practiced steps back. The distance centres him again and he has no problem chiming back with his own scathing comments.

 

“You don’t need to project so heavily on me just because your own existence is an accident. Your parents only wanted one child but got two. That makes you the spare, right?”

 

He smirks in satisfaction as Bakura’s expression darkens in both fury and shame. Malik finds he likes the look on Bakura's face. It's funny. 

 

“It does not!” Bakura insists hotly, crossing his arms and glaring up at Malik. He spits at Malik’s feet and Malik steps back some more, scrunching his nose up in disgust. He shakes his head.

 

“First you push me when my back is turned and then you spit on me? You’re so gross and unruly, I feel bad for whoever is stuck with you in the future. Being bonded to you would be the worst!”

 

Bakura bares his teeth in a snarl and lunges suddenly. Malik only manages to get out of the way in time because Bakura is hardly subtle and has plenty of tells on what his next move will be. That’s mostly why he sneaked up on Malik in the first place. Malik, wanting to stop all of this quickly, presses his foot into Bakura’s small back, hard enough to keep him still, but gentle enough not to hurt him. If he does, he knows Bakura will tell on him and spin this into somehow being Malik’s fault. Malik certainly doesn’t want that.

 

“What? You know I’m telling the truth. You don’t need to get upset, do you?” Malik arches an eyebrow than blinks a few times as the school bell chimes in the courtyard, signalling the end of recess. He pulls off of Bakura, noticing now that Bakura looks just as dirty as he does. He decides to call that even. Still, he lets his eyes travel over Bakura a few more moments, the sight of him looking so pathetic making his insides squirm pleasantly. Then he speaks again.

 

“Please stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

 

Bakura growls and turns his head to glare at Malik, but Malik is already retreating. He doesn’t want to be late to class and he honestly doesn’t think sticking around is even worth it. Revenge is only fun for awhile until Bakura proves himself to be nothing but a snivelling child. No wonder he hides behind his slightly older brother all the time; he’s all bark but no bite.

 

* * *

 

Bonds are special. No one knows much about them as they are just as mysterious as the human brain itself. Still, some things are for certain. Once someone presents as an omega or an alpha, an outside force claims you a bond mate; it appears somewhere on your arms like a wayward tattoo drawn on by a permanent marker. It changes depending on how tight and sincere the bond is; an early bond, usually beginning in the later teens, is very faded. A truly bonded alpha and omega’s arms are in bold letters and are impossible to miss. No one knows what is needed to become truly bonded; it seems to happen naturally.

 

Nature seems to be on top of it all, but it's up to the individual to decide what to do with their assigned mate. Many can reject the process or be neutral, while many others treat it as the most important moment in their lives. The validity of soulmates are heavily debated in academic spaces, but for the average social circle, a soulmate is accepted as easily as breathing.

 

For a teenager who lives and breathes rebellion though, the words that slip off his tongue come just as natural as any bond.

 

“What the fuck. You have to be messing with me. You are, right? You aren’t telling me I’m _that_. No fucking way.” Whatever that is, it makes the boy’s face twist. His eyes trail around the sterile room, ignoring blatantly the sheet of paper stating the stats of his current assessment. They are lies.

 

The doctor gives Bakura a sympathetic look which pisses him off further. He certainly doesn’t need coddling; that just makes it _worse._

 

“I know that this is hard to wrap your mind around, Bakura. It is for every teen your age. Your life changes once you present, but you need to understand you aren’t alone. It’s not as scary as it seems, I promise.”

 

Bakura scoffs and quickly brings his glare back to the doctor.

 

“I’m not scared. I’m _angry._ How can you get those two mixed up?”

 

The doctor’s smile grows softer, but there’s an edge of personal self-awareness to the expression. He shrugs.

 

“Those two emotions tend to align with each other. Presenting as an omega is a very new experience. I'd be surprised if anger was all you were feeling, to be quite honest.”

 

Bakura’s glare hardens.

 

“You don’t know me. Stop trying to act like you do.” Bakura grits his teeth and tries desperately to pretend he doesn’t want to break down into tears. He glances over his arms again and finds nothing. It keeps the controlled anxiety he _thought_ he had been hiding pretty well to jump at his throat, making his swallowing slow and almost choking.

 

“Where is it?” he mutters, keeping all emotion out of his voice. He doesn’t want to care or even seem to others like he might. “These feelings have been hovering around for a few weeks. Shouldn’t it have shown up by now?”

 

“It’s very possible your bond mate hasn’t presented yet. Don’t worry, it’ll show up in time.”

 

That’s not at all comforting for Bakura, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he thinks about the most irritating thing, clinging to the anger. He certainly didn’t let himself think too hard on presenting and bonding, but he can safely say he had never wanted to be an omega. It's too... demanding to be one, not that being an alpha can be any better. He’s seen the way the alphas act in school or anywhere else; it all just seems like a chore. If he could live without any of this, he would without a second glance back.

 

“I’ll set you up with some well-liked prescriptions for omega use. Scent suppressants are a must, of course, but new omegas have growing pains so painkillers for cramps will definitely need to be given as well. Also, do you plan to go under heats with or without heat suppressants? A lot of omegas prefer to go in blind without treatment which is actually known to be very healthy. It certainly can help you get more ‘acquainted’ with your new self, but it’s up to you.”

 

Bakura growls, fingers digging harshly into his palms as he shook.

 

“Why the fuck do I need all of that? And why would anyone want to be a horny mess for almost a week with only your own hand and your own creativity for company? Are those people just dumb free-loving hippies? Count me the fuck out!”

 

The doctor just shakes his head, scribbling the prescriptions down on a notepad before ripping the paper out and holding it out to the seething teen. Bakura pulls it out of his hand none too gently and moves to get up, but hesitates. He bites at his lip, shoulders bunching up.

 

“Hey... so when am I supposed to expect my first heat anyway? Is it going to be triggered by something or is that random too?” His voice grows sarcastic at the end to hide his discomfort at the thought of a heat. 

 

“Once your body is finished adjusting to the changes within it. It won’t be random but it might seem so. It’s best to come for regular check-ups to see the progress. That’s, of course, if you want to.”

 

“I’ll pass,” Bakura spits, feeling the panic beginning to travel through his system in rapid fire. Getting out of this cramped office space and back home in his bedroom where everything is safer and he doesn’t need to think about any of this is all he truly wants right now. He ignores anything else the doctor may have to say and goes straight home, crumbling up the piece of paper given to him and stuffing it as far as he can into his pocket on the way out.

 

* * *

 

“More wine, Master Malik?”

 

Malik flicks his disinterested gaze on the butler standing a respectable distance from him, gloved hands holding the wine bottle out to him. Malik looks at his glass, noticing the red substance collecting at the bottom of it and casually tips the glass toward the work staff who’s name is escaping him. His lips quirk up in satisfaction as it’s wordlessly filled and he takes a generous sip.

 

This is what Malik likes about his father’s staff; they never stop him from drinking. Why would they? It’s not like they want to be fired, yet Malik heavily doubts his father would care anyway. His siblings on the other hand...

 

Well, that doesn't matter either; they aren't around much these days.

 

“Master Malik,” a maid flutters by his seat, a tray in her shaking hands and black curls bouncing against her plump cheeks, “there’s been an unfortunate mistake in the kitchens. We haven’t as much as we thought we did. This will have to do, yes?”

 

She’s an omega. He knows this because only omegas get this nervous around him. Even though he hasn’t presented yet, most have already assumed his status either from speculation or all those pediatricians his father had sent him to. By this point, there is a 90% chance he’ll be an alpha. Knowing that possibility must be clouding her judgement, making it hard for her to tell how to react around him. 

 

“That’s fine.” He decides to take pity on her, eyeing the less than stellar main course. “Make sure to go to the store later and please keep stock of our storage better.”

 

A soft intake of breath and the woman bows slightly.

 

“Yes, Master Malik.”

 

Malik watches her leave. He can see her bond mate on her arm but it’s faded; either she hasn’t met them yet or she and they haven't grown close enough yet or her bond had an untimely demise. Marks can look like that if a mated one dies, leaving the other alone. It’s unfortunate but inevitable when death is all around them. After all, his own father had suffered that same fate when Malik’s mother died giving birth to him. Yet his father had coped... if throwing himself into his work and barely ever coming home can be considered coping.

 

Malik squints further at her, suddenly suspicious. There is one other way for a faded mark to exist. Infidelity. That betrayal easily severs a bond like it’s butter. A bond breaking like that has a hard time coming back after something so severe. With how important a soulmate is, abandoning them for your own pleasures is unfounded. God does not give one a soulmate just to throw them away, after all. There are consequences for that type of decision. At least in life, long-lasting ones. 

 

Malik twirls his glass thoughtfully and sighs, tilting his head up at the vast ceilings with their extravagant paintings. Besides the servants, the house is painfully silent. It’s like a ghost town with the servants playing the role of the drifting ghosts, following their usual patterns without thought. It’s disconcerting; he wishes his siblings were home, but Rishid is still at work and Isis is in the dorms at her fancy university. He is truly alone and he hates it. The wine on his tongue grows sour and Malik glares, fist clenching around the sensitive surface.

 

If he can just present already and catch up with the rest of his grade, maybe he can find some peace of mind. School is already dreadfully boring when he understands more than the teachers from all the tutors he’s had in his youth and all his friends are far from the proper definition of friend. No one but his family has ever been worthy of him, but someone is quite literally made to be his; there’s no way he’ll ever be disappointed and he can finally feel less listless.

 

Unfortunately, it seems he’s becoming what experts call ‘the late bloomer’. For all of the extra research his father paid to find out his standing before the presenting took place, the fact he is one of the last in his grade to present at all is frustrating and quite frankly _rude._ He just wants his free ticket to nirvana already.

 

Malik bites back the emotions bubbling under the surface of his hardening expression and focuses on his second-rate dinner. Chewing makes his thoughts stifle out and he allows himself the rest.

 

Soon. It will be soon. Then he can finally understand what all of this truly feels like.

 

Yeah, that is what he really needs. To feel again.

 

* * *

 

Bakura’s glare can cut a man in two as it slices through his homeroom class. No one pays him any mind, but he would barely notice anyway as his gaze is directed to the back of a pompous asshole with daddy issues.

 

Malik Ishtar sits quite easily, obnoxious haughty laughter travelling through every other sound in the classroom and slamming directly into Bakura’s moody senses. No matter how hard Bakura glares, Malik doesn’t split in two and reveal his true filthy self. Malik doesn’t even look his way even though Bakura knows through their previous exchanges that Malik has to be well aware of him. He almost always is; he’s developed his own senses since their days in the playground, pushing each other into dirt and grime and forcing some sort of yield. Bakura doesn’t count them, but he knows he lost more of those than he won, even back then. The thought only serves to piss him off further.

 

Malik is surrounded by money-grubbing dildos, all vying for his attention at once and staring at him like he’s the centre of the entire universe and salvation can only be found with him. They are all omegas. No self-respecting alpha would beg for scraps like this. The whole scene irritates Bakura the longer he looks at it and he as always is forced to eventually tear his eyes away, a weird feeling of disappointed mixed with resignation settling in his gut. He doesn’t know what exactly he might want from someone like Malik, but being ignored like he’s beneath him is certainly not on that list.

 

Bakura finds a seat away from the other students, preferring to be alone. Most of the students hate him anyway; he has a reputation of being a delinquent ‘evil’ child who won’t go anywhere but a prison cell once he leaves school grounds for good. It’s nice to have so many teachers believe in him.

 

Chewing harshly into his meat bun, he keeps his eyes and ears on Malik and his posse, wanting an opening to pounce and mess with him. Malik needs to be put down a peg or two and be reminded his money doesn’t make him inherently better than everyone else; it certainly doesn’t make him any better than Bakura.

 

Bakura himself isn’t even poor; his father works for a museum, but even a middle wage family pales in comparison to Malik’s _fucking castle._ How smug does someone have to be to live in a mansion and still have the guts to go to public school? That’s got to be on purpose so he can look down his nose at everyone _early._

 

It’s weird but whenever Malik’s around it’s like the rest of the world has gone extinct. He doesn’t hear any of the noise circling around him or even the mutts yapping at Malik’s feet, drooling all over his freshly pressed outfit. No, all he hears is Malik and all his ridiculous glory. All he’s ever seen is Malik. He can’t help it; as far as Bakura’s concerned the bastard is everywhere and can’t properly be escaped. His purple flashy scarf in the middle of spring had ticked Bakura off back when they were children and the sparkling diamond bracelet swinging loosely around his wrist gets Bakura as hot under the collar as before. In a lot of ways, nothing has changed except Malik has gotten cockier as they grew up and isn’t that just _revolting_.

 

Bakura grits his teeth around his juice box straw, sucking fast and hard, making him almost choke on the force of it. He’s staring at Malik again but he’s not really seeing the present him anymore, only memories wiggling in his brain like earthworms. He hates to dwell but the wait is impossible.

 

“Come on,” he grumbles impatiently, eyes flicking to the clock above the classroom’s door, knowing full well Malik’s schedule meant he’d leave the class to talk to ‘friends’ in other classes soon. “Leave him alone already.”

 

Malik seems to think the same way as he stands up, eyes flicking at each lamb like he’s counting them for slaughter. Of course, the idiots don’t realize it though. No wonder they follow him; they don’t even know what’s in front of their faces.

 

He leaves after a friendly goodbye that grates on Bakura’s frayed nerves. Bakura doesn’t try to be subtle; he jumps from his seat and stocks after Malik’s retreating back in hopes to catch him off guard.

 

Except he isn’t in the hallway anymore.

 

Bakura frowns and looks back and forth, trying to figure out which way his nemesis has gone to, only for a hand to appear suddenly from a broom closet and pull him in, the door shutting loud and final behind him.

 

Bakura immediately struggles against the hold, already knowing who it is and hating himself for once again falling for Malik’s bullshit. How can he forget in his urgency that Malik already knew he had been watching him?

 

He can practically hear the roll of the eyes in Malik’s tone.

 

“Oh, stop your whining, it’s annoying. Just like your constant tracking of me. I can’t believe you still haven’t learned not to sneak up on me after all these years. At least be a little more creative, Bakura. All of this is just taxing.”

 

Bakura finally manages to slip out of Malik’s grip, stumbling slightly into the door and he can only turn around to right himself before Malik presses in on him, glaring in sharp familiar hatred and crowding Bakura in. Bakura lets himself smirk. Being that close to him is _mighty_ dangerous...

 

The hands on either side of Bakura’s head twitch in agitation before digging into the plastic of the door. Malik scoffs and his shoulders rise in a way that makes him look bigger than he actually is. The sight distracts Bakura for a few moments, his stomach tightening and a weird tingle shooting down his spine.

 

“You’re such a nuisance. I can’t seem to shake you! Please die already so I don’t have to look a minute longer at you.”

 

Bakura sneers, leaning his face closer into Malik’s. He isn’t backing down; not now, not ever, especially not to someone as conceited and as cruel as Malik.

 

“Do it yourself, coward. Not that I’d let you, of course. You’d be bleeding out on this nasty floor before you could even attempt it. Exactly where you belong.”

 

Malik actually laughs, right in his face. That stupid laughter that always carries from afar, loud and piercing and especially mocking. Bakura flushes in embarrassment at this, wondering what he had possibly said to warrant such a response, but already secretly knowing the reason.

 

“You talk big for a man with very little wins against me. You’re lucky I’m not interested in murder.”

 

Bakura turns his head away but eyes him snidely from the corner of his eye.

 

“You certainly don’t act that way around those masturbatory trophy omegas you’ve got sniffing your ass. You look like you’re about to swallow them whole every time you look at them.”

 

Malik’s expression darkens, eyes sliding half mass and leaning even closer so that his lips hover over Bakura’s ear as close as the aristocrat dares.

 

“Trust me, they like it.”

 

Bakura’s face screws up in confusion before he realizes what Malik’s implying. Something jumps within Bakura, spiking his newly forming scent up in the room and Malik pauses before he can properly pull away. Bakura uses this opportunity for what it is. He pulls the knife from his pocket and goes directly for Malik’s abdomen, long past caring for the consequences of his own actions and needing to hurt Malik for all the times Malik has hurt him _with all his giggling hussies_ —

 

Malik grabs his hand before he reaches his destination and simply frowns at him, squeezing Bakura’s hand and wrist hard enough to force Bakura to let go, cursing loudly at the living demon who won’t stop torturing him. Malik ignores this and uses his other hand to grab Bakura’s hair in a harsh grip, forcefully push his head to the side and rip the long strands of hair out of the way of his neck. Bakura continues to complain, voice rising in pitch because _that hurts._

 

“You sonofa—”

 

He goes deathly quiet when Malik fills the space between his shoulder and head, breathing in deeply against his neck. Confusion and something floaty settle in his brain and he stares blankly at a broom mocking him over Malik’s shoulder.

 

A soft exhale against the increasingly sensitive area of his neck causes Bakura to shiver as Malik pulls away, staring at him like he’s truly seeing him for the first time. It makes Bakura uneasy.

 

“W-What?” He tries for a defensive hardening of his features, a glare and a sneer, but the stutter in his voice gives him away.

 

Malik quirks an eyebrow. Then he smirks and it’s as egotistically as Bakura knows it can be. He’s far too self-satisfied and it makes Bakura want to claw his fucking eyes out and finish him off by ruining that pretty face of his.

 

“Well, this is just obvious. I should have seen it coming. It makes a whole lot of sense. Only someone like _that_ would spend all the time obsessing over me, right?”

 

Bakura tenses, beginning to realize what has been revealed to Malik. He wants to back away from Malik, but the door is still very much behind him and he can’t think clearly enough to remind himself that doors are there to open. His brows furrow. He deflects.

 

“I don’t spend time obsessing over you. It’s you who won’t leave me alone!”

 

Malik shakes his head.

 

“Whatever. Come your heat and you’ll be moaning my name while jerking off like everyone else. That’s all I have to say about _that_...”

 

“You have a lot to say and most of it is nothing but lies! Shut the fuck up, Malik, before I make you!” Bakura’s eyes grow a little wild as the panic from his doctor appointment begins to creep back into his consciousness. His thoughts scatter and now all he wants is to stop Malik from talking, even conceding defeat and walking away with his tail between his legs is better than this.

 

Malik studies him before shrugging and crossing his arms, leaning to one side so his hip juts out.

 

“You don’t deny my first claim though. You presented. You can’t try to deny it now that I mentioned it. I know the smell of an omega _intimately_.” Malik’s smirk finally finds a reason to die down. “By the way, why aren’t you using suppressants? I thought you were the type to guard your secrets excessively. People other than me are going to start to notice once your scent settles and becomes strong if you don’t suppress it.”

 

“ _I._ _Know,_ ” Bakura says through gritted teeth, not appreciating being talked down to. He doesn’t need someone who hasn’t presented yet to tell him what he should or shouldn’t be doing.

 

“Then why aren’t you doing anything?” Malik scoffs and mutters something insulting under his breath. He seems to debate to himself before sighing heavily and grabbing Bakura’s arm. “Look, I have suppressants in my shoe locker. At least hide your scent so only people who matter know it. It’s disgusting to have other people who aren’t your bond mate or pack smell you like that.”

 

Bakura jumps on that, smirking in a superior fashion.

 

“Then why did you smell me earlier. Doesn’t that make you disgusting for taking advantage of me like that?”

 

Malik’s face expresses a deep hatred for Bakura before he’s roughly tugged out the door. Bakura moves to deny Malik but he spots a few someones watching them.

 

A few of Malik’s omegas have been looking for him and stare in now viscous jealousy at Malik’s hand wrapped around Bakura’s arm, glancing suspiciously at the broom closet they had both just escaped from.

 

The weird pit of satisfaction blossoming into a full-blown peach tree is enough to stop him from acting out any further. He takes the suppressants, only questioning Malik briefly on why he has them.

 

“You must be truly dumb. The moment I know I’m presenting, I need to cover it up. Like I said, only your bond mate or pack should know your scent. It’s the way people with actual sense and taste operate.”

 

The answer is as pompous and ridiculous as he had expected.

 

* * *

 

Bakura curls his fingers into his pillow and buries his face in it, sighing heavily. It’s been a long day of stupid and pointless encounters. The only event that matters sticks to his consciousness like glue and his mind is hard pressed as always to let it go. The memory of Malik crowding him in, the power and heat seeping off of Malik and feeding Bakura’s desires, the way his breath felt against his ear and neck, the sharp expensive taste of his scent...

 

Bakura grits his teeth in agitation when his body reacts to the stimuli in a way he vehemently ignores. If Malik was physically unappealing, he tells himself, these problems wouldn’t be happening. It has nothing to do with Malik and everything to do with common sense. That bastard got the gorgeous genes and his senseless flaunting of it pisses Bakura off to such a degree that sometimes his hand strays on his person as he thinks about it. That’s normal.

 

Bakura isn’t anything to stick your nose up at either, yet Malik apparently doesn’t see that. Not once has Malik ever looked his way, but then again it’s probably because he can’t be easily exploited like his loyal barking servants. Bakura doesn’t want him to look his way anyway, it just irks him. For some reason.

 

Bakura finds himself beginning to doze off, but it’s only for a moment. A knock on his bedroom door disturbs his thoughts and his rest, making him sigh in irritation. Lifting his head, he glares as the intruder lets himself in.

 

“Yami,” Ryou greets, a small soft smile on his face easily goading Bakura into a fight, “I see you’re home. Why didn’t you tell me you presented?”

 

Bakura rolls his eyes, mildly disbelieving. Of course, his brother cuts straight to the chase without any preemptive small talk. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

 

“Oh, you know, ‘cause it wasn’t any of your business. I live my life as I see fit. Keeping the shit that’s _my_ shit to myself. You should learn to try it sometime.”

 

Ryou shrugs and turns to rummage in his school bag, pulling a white paper bag out from the confines of his school books and supplies. Bakura catches the logo of their local pharmacy and squints at it.

 

“Sorry for prying, I guess, but I found the crumpled up doctor’s note on the floor of the bathroom when it was my turn to take a bath last night. I decided to take it upon myself to get the prescriptions for you. I know how avoidant you can be. You’d never do it on your own, would you?”

 

Bakura scowls.

 

“You aren’t dad. Stop treating me like a child!”

 

“Stop acting like one first and I wouldn’t have to look after you like this.” Ryou steps further into the room and places the bag on his desk. “I’ll leave them here, okay? Try to remember to use them. They’re important.”

 

“Just because you already presented a year ago and have a true bond doesn’t mean you can nag me like this! I’ll take them when I feel like it!”

 

“I’ll turn my back and leave you alone so your pride doesn’t kill you. You can take them then. Dinners going to be ready in an hour. As usual, I’ll call you down when it’s done. Try taking a nap, it might stem that cranky temper of yours.”

 

“That was what I was TRYING to do before you interrupted! Don’t patronize me!” Bakura huffs and turns away from the closing door, glaring daggers at the pale blue wall beside him. His expression begins to dull after a few minutes and he rubs at his eye before glancing behind him at the bag on his desk, then the tiny bottle he knows is laying at the bottom of his school bag, only one dose used from it.

 

Ignoring them once again for the time being, he gets more comfortable and decides to have a proper rest. Not, of course, because Ryou told him to, but because he honestly doesn’t want to deal with the world.

 

* * *

 

Malik always tries to push himself hard during swim meets even if the swim club is supposed to be a lax and easy going experience. In part, it’s because he wants to show off and have the rest of his teammates crowd around him and praise him to the high heavens about how _amazing_ he is at swimming and _oh, have you thought about joining a real team later in life._ But really it’s also because Malik doesn’t believe in doing anything in parts; it’s all or nothing. There’s no point in joining a club if it’s only for fun as far as he’s concerned.

 

Besides, taking the easy route and just swimming casually is _boring._ He can’t help but privately sneer at every ‘athlete’ in this club. Interacting with them feels more and more like a chore every day. Don’t they have an ounce of motivation in their bodies? It’s sickening.

 

The feel of the water is nice against his skin as he zips through it with precision. The wail of the water in his ears is calming and he almost hates having to come up for air. The brief isolation he feels during it all keeps him sane. He wasn’t lying when he told Bakura he has no interest in murder, but those ‘friends’ he spends all his time with might just make him tip that way someday with their pitiful snivelling. If they didn’t give him such a huge ego boost, reminded people who he was or offered up their bodies when he needed them he knew he’d dump them in a second. 

 

Malik smirks as he pulls himself out of the water, the thick cascades falling off him like mini waterfalls. He runs a hand through his hair to pull the wet strands out of his eyes and briefly notices two omegas on his team are staring, twin blushes on their faces. Malik sends them a friendly wink and a wave even if he privately finds them dull and ugly. They swoon.

 

Practice is mostly over, he can estimate. He’s been in there for longer than the others and some are already hovering by the exit door, talking amongst themselves. The few that are still in bathing suits are canon balling or dipping their toes in; hardly the look of a team hoping to make it in any school competitions. Ugh.

 

He avoids their watchful eyes in hopes to not get roped into their conversations when he isn’t ready for it yet. He only relaxes once he’s standing under the shower, washing the chlorine off his tanned and toned body. Under the loud scream of the pelting water, he has no need to pretend to be nice or unaware of what his image and status is. He can just be himself.

 

And the memory of what happened just a few hours ago creeps into his brain and he sighs. Bakura has always been a constant thorn in Malik’s side. At one point, he had just been a typical school bully who had found a target in Malik and his differences, but as Malik grew and changed to become more and more like Bakura claimed him to be, he is now the only person who sees Malik with more truth than the others. A self-fulfilling prophecy, considering how wrong he had been back then, but Malik knows he has always been groomed to be the way he is now; it had nothing to do with any cause and effect when it comes to Bakura. Still, Bakura probably still thinks he’s always been right and that’s just _adorable._

 

Malik frowns as the troubling thoughts begin to make themselves known. He’ll admit it, he has never believed Bakura to be anything other than another alpha. Alphas are known for being vicious to each other and throwing their weight around when they need to. Malik had just thought Bakura was a dumb alpha who thought taking Malik down would give him the most power.

 

So the revelation that all of that is false is hard to digest. Sure, it seems obvious now, but Bakura is not how a typical omega acts. He’s coarse and unrefined, harsh and simple-minded and not to mention confrontational. How can I guy like that be an omega?

 

At first, Malik was even willing to believe Bakura had somehow gotten it on with an omega because even that is more believable than an omega delinquent who shoots glares and sneers his way every single moment they are in contact. If that’s how Bakura acts as an unknowing omega, Malik wonders how the hell he’ll act when he’s a fully developed one. Nothing but trouble and disgusting habits, no doubt. As always, Malik feels bad for the poor sap who needs to take care of a mangy mutt like Bakura. They’ll have their work cut out for them.

 

Well, at least there is one thing that can be a plus about Bakura; he’s stupidly attractive. Of course, one would naturally prefer the older twin, Ryou, to the younger one since he has more qualities than just his looks, but since Ryou and Mutou are bonded the only other choice for those looks is Bakura. If you ignore everything else about him, he can even be tolerable. A pretty face to look at always is.

 

But all of this just pisses Malik off. If even Bakura can start presenting, when will he? He’s waited long enough and he’s more than ready to start in on his future. His father’s house calls are starting to become more frequent; it’s obvious his father is ready to set him on that course packaged with all the usual expectations his father has for him. It’s the only subject his father bothers talking to him about these days.

 

All this thinking just puts him in a bad mood and Malik shuts off the shower with more force than is needed. He quickly towels off and gets dressed, noting the vacant room around him. Everyone must have gone home already. Looks like he's becoming way too introspective. 

 

His motorcycle is parked exactly where he left it, in his personal parking space. Money pays well as he knows and managing to bribe a public school into letting him have it and drive a motorcycle in the first place is a piece of pie. No one's going to say anything when bills and coins practically fall out of your pockets.

 

Excitement spikes the moment he has his hands on the handlebars, his butt in the seat, the rumble of the engine in his thighs. Tightening his helmet around his head, he sets off to his big mansion where his servants will be waiting but no one else.

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Bakura?”

 

Bakura jumps at the sudden voice, breaking away from his homemade lunch to lift his eyes up to the rude intrusion. He’s surprised to find that his ears hadn’t been playing tricks on him; it really is the annoying rich Ishtar glaring importantly down at him. Well, that’s a surprise; Bakura can count on his one hand the number of times Malik had willingly been the one to come to him. For some reason, this change satisfies him greatly.

 

Smirking, he tilts his head and chews the hamburger steak with an open mouth, watching as Malik visibly flinches away at the sight of it. He swallows and gestures with his chopsticks at Malik’s affronted expression.

 

“What? You got your panties imported from a country whose name I can’t pronounce in a twist? You should get that checked out. That and the stick you got a mile high up your ass. Ha.”

 

“Bakura,” Malik says between clenched teeth, apparently unwilling to be deterred by his blunt phrasing. “I didn’t just give you my scent suppressants for show. Use them.”

 

Bakura rolls his eyes and stuffs sticky rice into his mouth.

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles past the food, “that’s not going to happen.”

 

A flash of rage flutters on Malik’s expression before it goes suspiciously blank. God, that bastard hides like a roach. This is why Bakura does what he does; he needs to see the truth behind all the fluff.

 

“Fine, then,” Malik says, his hand outstretching and making a grabbing motion. “If you won’t take them then give them back. I don’t want your ungrateful ass anywhere near them anymore.”

 

“Look.” Bakura lolls his head to the side. “I took them the one time, but I felt there wasn’t much difference—”

 

“Of course, there’s not much difference! YOU aren’t the one having to smell your scent everywhere you go _you little worm—_ ”

 

Bakura raises his eyebrows, watching Malik more closely. His voice has gotten shrill and several students have their attention on them now, staring and gossiping with each other. Malik’s cheeks are red and his eyes are wilder than Bakura’s ever known them. He’s breathing heavily. For the first time, Malik looks _ruffled._

 

Bakura sends a side glance to his school bag hanging off the hook on his desk. It’s almost been a month since his doctor appointment and Bakura has steadily ignored everything to do with it since then (other than the painkillers for the abdomen and hip pain he’s been experiencing for the past week). If Malik is only noticing this now, his scent must be becoming more poignant. 

 

Sighing, Bakura puts down his chopsticks and rummages in his bag, pulling out the long forgotten bottle. He throws it without looking at Malik’s heaving chest, muttering moodily under his breath as he does so.

 

“Fine. Take it. I have my own at home anyway.”

 

He stuffs his mouth with the green beans in his bento, his least favourite part of the dish. Why Ryou insists on a balanced lunch with _vegetables_ Bakura doesn’t know. He tries to ignore Malik, but the noise of the bottle opening and the pills shaking within it forces his attention back on him. Malik thrusts his hand out with a pill laying innocently in it. Bakura screws his face up, his throat closing up in refusal, but something hard and dirty in Malik’s eyes makes him take it, swallowing it uncomfortably under Malik’s oppressive gaze.

 

Malik stuffs the bottle in his pocket and runs his hands down his body to smooth himself out, but he doesn’t look any more satisfied. In fact, he manages to look even more pissed. It’s impressive. Bakura doesn’t think he’s done half as much to provoke something like this.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Malik pauses, looking at him strangely and Bakura can’t blame him. Bakura certainly hadn’t planned to say something so dumb, but before he can wave it away, Malik turns away, flicking his hair over one shoulder because he’s an asshole.

 

“Yes. I am.”

 

Bakura scoffs but doesn’t pry any further. He watches Malik leave for only a few moments before tilting his bento box and using his chopsticks to scoop the last of the rice into his mouth. When he tilts the box back down, Malik’s retreating form is gone. He isn’t even in the room anymore. Bakura frowns as he looks around, both confused and irritated.

 

“Doesn’t even say goodbye...”

 

* * *

 

Malik sneezes.

 

“Oh! Bless you, Master Malik.”

 

Malik waves a hand at the maid’s words and she quickly looks away, clearing her throat awkwardly and looking busy by dusting the bookshelf. Malik ignores her even further by rubbing at his irritated nose and squeezing his eyes shut. His head spins with his eyes closed and he’s forced to open them again with a sigh.

 

“Am I coming down with something...?” he grumbles, leaning heavily into the armchair behind him. It’s little comfort; he’s too hot and his senses too sensitive. Everything just feels like it’s rough gravel against his skin and the tank top and shorts he’s currently wearing does nothing to stop the heat. He wants to sleep, but can’t seem to and he’s annoyed that he had to skip swim club because of this. Bakura's scent being stuck in his nose is just the final nail in the coffin for him. 

 

“Master Malik, I don’t want to pry, but I feel you should call the doctor. This doesn’t look good, it looks...” The maid hesitates, flushing slightly and it catches Malik’s attention, eyes raising slowly to her.

 

“What does it look like?”

 

Under his unrelenting gaze, she has no choice but to answer. Her shoulders droop and she runs a nervous hand through her cropped hair.

 

“I know you aren’t presented yet, sir, but I swear you’re showing signs of a forced rut.”

 

“Call the doctor.”

 

She stumbles over herself.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Did I stutter? Call him now."

 

She nods quickly and drops her duster as she scurries out of the room to find the nearest landline. Malik watches her go than studies his arm. It’s only then that he notices the slight greying patch there. Fascinated, he presses his fingers into the discolouring and watches it refuse to change colour no matter how hard he presses. He bumps his head against the back of the chair, grinning furiously at the ceiling.

 

“ _Finally._ ”

 

He doesn’t even think about the reasoning for his sudden rut; if he had then he might have been more prepared to find out what those grey marks on his arm spelled.

 

* * *

 

Bakura, brows furrowed heavily over his closed eyes, turns over onto his stomach, curling his fingers in the bed sheet and moaning softly. After a few seconds, he subconsciously begins to rock against the bed under him. His eyes flutter but otherwise stay closed.

 

“Malik...”

 

The moon is high in the night sky, casting a pale light over his body. It catches his arm, illuminating the grey words etched into the skin, seeming to glow under the attention. Bakura’s cheeks darken and his breath is hot and fast, his eyes moving quickly behind his eyelids. His nails dig further into the fabric and he gasps, shivering and moaning. Bakura’s satisfaction dies quickly and he whines into his pillow, beginning to wake up at the disturbance and frustration under his skin.

 

“What the...?”

 

Heat seeps through Bakura’s entire body, scorching his insides in more need than he’s ever experienced in his life. It chokes him, making him curl up as he shakes and wheezes. His mind feels split in two and a million thoughts seem to scatter, becoming nothing before he can properly grasp them. He breathes slowly to try and clear his mind, but all he can think about is his throbbing cock squeezed between his thighs and _Malik fucking Ishtar._

 

Bakura frustratingly spreads himself out and rips his underwear down, grasping himself tightly and jerking harshly, using the cum from his previous orgasm as an easy lubricant. Speaking of lubricant, Bakura’s surprised to realize there’s a lot of slick clinging to his butt and thighs, slippery and sweet. His hole feels tender and wanting and Bakura has no idea what to do with it.

 

It’s only at this point that his mind catches up far enough to realize he’s in heat. Then he curses himself for ignoring the warnings and not taking the stupid medication. Even if he tried to take the heat suppressant pills now, it wouldn’t work. In this state, his body would probably reject them. He’s officially screwed himself  _like he always does._

 

And since he’s alone in this he’s going to be screwing himself for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Sleep is difficult for Malik, mostly because he feels he should be somewhere else. He thinks about all the omega friends he has, but his body recoils at it. He can understand why; now that he’s a proper alpha he needs to act like one which means no more flings. The name on his arm should be his top priority from now on.

 

The other reason sleep is difficult right now, of course, is his cock that stays hard and untouched between his legs, dripping precum onto his stomach and aching with pressure. Malik’s brows only furrow slightly as he stubbornly stares at the ceiling. He knows touching himself won’t make much difference and it feels too barbaric and lonely anyway. Instead, he focuses his wavering and lustful gaze on his arm, squinting at it and trying to decipher the words there. They’re in Japanese, he’s made out that much. Great, but that’s everyone he’s ever met; he lives in Japan. It certainly doesn’t narrow it down to anything manageable. He feels like he’s wearing glasses with how unresponsive his eyes are right now. It’s ridiculous.

 

He blows some air out from his mouth, making the hair hanging over his forehead fly up slightly before settling. The doctor and Malik’s servants have done all they can to make him as comfortable as possible; it’s rare for someone to go into a rut the moment they present. A forced rut means he’s been in contact with his omega; only they could set this into motion apparently. That just makes him more desperate to read the damn name on his arm because Malik comes into contact with so many omegas a day that he loses count. Who the hell is it?

 

Malik bites his lip and squeezes his thighs together. He isn’t ready to yield. He’s taken the emergency relief medication the doctor gave him just an hour ago; he knows this will end in a few hours and he can go to sleep. No need to act like an animal with little sense. A hand around him won’t be enough for him to knot. He’ll just frustrate himself further.

 

He spends the time in a daze tracing the name on his arm.

 

* * *

 

The first word he manages to make out is ‘Yami’. He’s standing in the middle of the bathroom attached to his bedroom, squinting under the harsh light and twisting his arm back and forth. He spreads his thumb over it, stretching the skin to make it wider just to make certain he’s right. He doesn’t know a Yami so how can that be true? The doctor said he had met them already.

 

He tilts his arm just right and...

 

“...No. That can’t be right. His name isn’t...” But Malik’s shaking fingers squeeze at his skin and the words stay the same. He’s remembering that Bakura isn’t Bakura’s name, it’s his family name. He’s heard it before and if he lets himself accept it then...

 

Malik’s nails dig harshly into his skin and the burn of it is enough to keep him from doing something stupid like screaming and crying and throwing things. His legs give out from under him and his butt hits the tub edge roughly, earning a small discomforted grunt from Malik’s tightly pressed lips. He feels suddenly numb like he’s experiencing everything from a distance; not something he had expected to experience when this finally happened to him. As always, Bakura finds ways to ruin things for him and he’s not even here. Malik gives the wall a blank stare.

 

“...What do I do now?”

 

His voice echoes back and Malik sighs. The pit in his heart feels heavy and sharp, threatening to sever it from the rest of his body. A soul bond is supposed to be the most important moment in his life, he is supposed to find someone who means something to him. Bakura doesn’t mean anything to him. If Bakura had just left him alone he would have never even given him any thought. That’s how insignificant Bakura is in his day-to-day life. Now he has to spend his whole life with him, bond with him? Impossible.

 

Malik’s expression begins to crumble and he can’t hold back anymore.

 

He screams.

 

* * *

 

Bakura isn’t in his seat that morning.

 

Malik doesn’t immediately notice as he’s trying his best to ignore him. He doesn’t want to be confronted by Bakura, he doesn’t want to voice it, he just wants to go as normal for a little while longer. 

 

Except Bakura isn’t here. His desk is empty when Malik looks after roll call. Bakura is stated to be absent and at first Malik thinks it’s because of their fated bonding; after all, Bakura is known for finding ways to avoid the stuff he doesn’t want to confront way more than anyone else Malik knows. A cowardly but definitely more intelligent approach than Malik’s I-can’t-see-you-so-you-don’t-exist method. Then Malik catches the phrasing of his homeroom teacher’s words and surprise overtakes him.

 

_He’s on leave? Isn’t that code for heats and ruts here?_

 

The way the rest of his classmates look at each other, they seem to think the same way. Some snicker and whisper to each other; some of the words he catches aren’t particularly nice, but none usually are when regarding Bakura. His stomach drops as his thoughts race, coming together to make a sickening sense.

 

If he was affected by Bakura and they’re connected whether they like it or not, then it stands to reason Bakura would be affected as well. A triggered heat because of Malik’s triggered rut. Considering how stubborn Bakura had been on his scent suppressants there is a strong chance he didn’t take the heat suppressants either, meaning he’s at home in a full-fledged heat.

 

Malik’s head droops forward at this realization. And here he thought they had enough to worry about. Seems, as always, Bakura has to make everything more difficult. Can he get any dumber?

 

There’s a bright side to this though; Bakura’s probably been so distracted by his heat that he hasn’t noticed Malik’s name on his arm yet. Though that’s just a calm before the storm. Malik highly doubts Bakura will be singing a tune over having Malik as a soulmate. He can’t help but cringe at the very thought of it. He really wishes he can delay the inevitable; he doesn’t want to have that discussion, but he’s a mature person most of the time, has to be for the Ishtar name. After his little meltdown in his bathroom, he doesn’t plan to act like a child any further on this.

 

Which means he’ll actually have to play his part now.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, the person who greets him on the other side of the door is Bakura’s older twin brother. He pauses in surprise at seeing Malik, then in suspicion. Malik can’t blame him; everyone knows the ire that goes on between him and Bakura, even if those people don’t necessarily understand it. Hell, after what Malik knows now, he can admit that maybe he’s never really known anything about his relationship with Bakura either. God seems to be the only one with the rights to that.

 

“Ishtar? What are you doing here? I’m afraid it’s not a good time to goad Yami. Try another day.”

 

Malik bristles. The remaining hormones from his rut makes him more easily ruffled and he tries to curve it the best he can. Still, did the older Bakura just imply _Malik_ was the cause of all their disputes? The nerve!

 

“Well—” Ryou tilts his head— “why are you here? You aren’t going to just stand there, are you?”

 

“No,” Malik says, attempting to keep the contempt out of his voice. Ryou is proving himself to be just as annoying as Bakura. “I just wanted to give Bakura something and I’ll be gone. I don’t plan to stick around or...” He trails off and bites his tongue. The idea of putting himself anywhere near Bakura during that state makes his heart beat race in his chest and an odd tugging appear in his gut. It’s uncomfortable and he doesn’t like it. No, he’s not taking a step into that house.

 

Malik stuffs his hand in his pocket, thumbing the cap of the bottle residing in there before pulling it out. He holds it out to Ryou, who eyes it like it’s poison.

 

“What is that?”

 

“It’s emergency relief suppressants. Works for both heats and ruts. Guarantees all physical symptoms and needs will go away in just a few hours after taking them. It's dangerous to use commonly, but should work fine just this once.”

 

Ryou doesn’t take them.

 

“Why?”

 

Malik falters and loses his rhythm.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Why?” Ryou repeats. “Why are you giving someone you hate something like that? Sounds a bit _forced,_ don’t you think?”

 

Malik sighs. He doesn’t want to, but he’s in the business of getting things done and he doesn’t want to walk away with his pocket still heavy either. Ryou will know soon anyway. Bakura will make sure of it with all the loud upheaval he’ll perform later.

 

So Malik pulls up the sleeve of his dress shirt and tilts his arm for an easier way to read. Ryou is silent and emotionless as he glances over it, but Malik can see when he makes the connection. His eyes flick back up to Malik, regarding him in a very different light. The two alphas stare at each other and Malik finds it’s hard not to look away; embarrassment is starting to get to him.

 

“So, that’s how it is?” Ryou hums thoughtfully. A smile pulls at his lips and he shrugs, taking the pills out of Malik’s hand as Malik quickly pulls down his sleeve, pretending he isn’t flushing heavily. “Guess a lot of people owe me some money now! So thanks for that.”

 

“What?” Malik's eyes narrow. “What do you mean money? There’s been a bet over this?”

 

“I mean, who hasn’t wondered what’s going on between you two? I had bet you were bonded. Let’s just say I’m very rich right now. I’m going to buy Yugi that new game he’s been eyeing in the shop window every time we go past. He’ll be so grateful. I’ll tell him you helped.”

 

Malik waves one hand out quickly, his other rubbing at his temple. He can barely keep up with what’s being said. How has he been this oblivious as to not know about this? He practically owns that school with how everyone falls over themselves to talk to him! Is Ryou telling him this is the type of stuff those same people talk about behind his back? Then again he’s always known they’re as fake to him as he is to them. He can’t really be shocked even if he still is.

 

“Thanks. I’ll take this up to him. I’m sure even he’ll appreciate it by this point.” Ryou holds the bottle up between them. He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want to come up and give it to him yourself?”

 

Malik almost gags. He quickly shakes his head and takes a purposeful step back toward his waiting motorcycle. There’s a part of him that’s still very much in a rut, even if it’s controlled, that wants to take Ryou up on that offer. It’s confusing since he still finds Bakura annoying. More than annoying. In fact, he can safely say he hates Bakura more than he’s ever hated him before, hormones be damned.

 

Ryou laughs and shakes his head. He steps back and moves to close the door.

 

“I didn’t think so.”

 

The sound of the door shutting echoes in Malik’s ears for longer than it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may find me here: https://thewriterinpink.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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